


A Few Lines Farther On

by Cinaed



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Conventions, Cosplay, First Meetings, Gen, Pre-Het
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 18:36:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2120472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cosette attends Otakon 2014 and Valjean reluctantly accompanies her, the long pre-registration line Thursday night brings about an unexpected encounter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Few Lines Farther On

**Author's Note:**

> This is self-indulgent as crap, please enjoy my fond mocking of Otakon's cluster-fuck and also enjoying the idea of Cosette cosplaying as Sailor Moon.

"Oh," Cosette says, staring at the long line of con-goers already outside the Pratt Street lobby. She can’t even see the end of line sign, much less any of the Otakon staff. She hesitates, wobbling a little in her heels, looking at the line already snaking around the building. A second later her father’s hand settles gently on her back, keeping her steady. She smiles her thanks and then wrinkles her nose. "I don’t remember the line being this long last year. Eponine and I came at this same time and we had our badges in forty minutes." 

"Perhaps there are more people doing pre-registration this year?" her father suggests. When she looks at him, though, he’s frowning a little, a small furrow between his eyes, and eyeing the line. 

Watching him, Cosette wishes that her mother were here instead. Not that she doesn't love spending time with her father, but he's more comfortable talking books and spending time in the garden with her. Her mother would be fine with these crowds; she would probably just settle herself at the top of the escalator and spend the weekend critiquing the cosplayers. Even Uncle Achille is secretly a fan of Sailor Moon though he pretends to mix up the Scouts to annoy her, but his knee’s not up for walking an entire convention for three days straight. 

Still, she smiles when her father looks at her. The line's already moving, someone dressed as Elsa holding onto her dress and walking carefully forward. Maybe the line looks worse than it actually is. “Well, we brought snacks and water,” she says cheerfully. “And at least it's not hot, this late! I don’t mind waiting an hour or two, and then we can go have dinner.” 

Two hours later, having stopped and started their way around the entire convention center and still not anywhere near the entrance, Cosette’s feeling less cheerful. There’s a rumor moving through the crowd that the doors will be closed at 10:30, and it’s nearly ten now. Her optimism is flagging. And her feet hurt. She wishes she’d thought to bring comfortable shoes for the line, or waited to cosplay Friday morning, or even that she was young enough again for her father to hoist her onto his shoulders. 

The only thing keeping her in good humor is her father’s increasingly baffled look at the number of people who see his favorite yellow jacket and tell him, “Great Joestar cosplay!”

She’s just turned the corner again when the shuffling crowd parts and her father says, sounding shyly pleased with himself for recognizing the character, “Oh, isn’t that one of the people from your anime?”

Cosette looks and sees him, a cute boy her age, maybe a little older, in a Tuxedo Mask costume. The August heat has made his dark hair cling damply to his jaw, and he looks sweaty and overheated. Their eyes meet, and Cosette starts to smile, her hand going instinctively to brush against her hair, carefully styled like Usagi’s by her father earlier in the day, as though to say,  _Look, me too_. She stops, her hand frozen in mid-air. There’s something in the way the boy looks at her, his lips parted, his eyes wide in wonder, that makes her feel warm suddenly in a way the Baltimore humidity hasn’t.

“Oh,” she says, and hears the high, flustered note in her voice too late as the crowd begins to move again and the boy disappears from sight. “Yes.” 

When she turns back to her father, still feeling strangely warm, she finds he’s frowning, something almost irritated in the unsmiling line of his mouth, his eyes fixed upon her face. She wonders if standing in line has finally worn down even her father’s seemingly inexhaustible amount of patience.

"Do you know him?" he asks, cautiously, and Cosette is startled into laughter.

"Know him?" She smiles. Her father, her mother, and even Uncle Achille all in the past few months have gotten very strange about boys. Does her father think she and the boy intend to meet up at the con? She shakes her head, the movement careful so she doesn't mess up her hair and all of her father's hard work. "I've never seen him before. Did you see how his tuxedo was a little long on him? We should give him Mom’s card if we see him again. She can help him with a better costume next year." 

Relief touches her father’s expression then, and he smiles half-apologetically. He holds out a bottle. “Drink some water,” he says, still in a quiet, half-embarrassed tone. “Your face is pink from the heat.” 

"Thank you," she says, and goes up on her tip toes to kiss his cheeks as she takes the bottle. She drinks the tepid water and tries not to think about the boy in the Tuxedo Mask costume, the flustered feeling he inspired when their eyes met, but it’s hard when she remembers his silly but sweet half-smile, half-grimace just as the crowd came between them. 

"Hey, man, great cosplay," someone says, interrupting her thoughts. She looks up, all thoughts of the boy temporarily banished, as a girl gives her father a friendly thumb’s up. "Can’t believe you found a jacket that matches!" 

Cosette giggles while her father smiles in polite bemusement and mutters a thank-you. Even with the long line and the heat, she thinks this con will be fun. 


End file.
